Page 19 of XOXO

Down on the platform, the train is preparing to leave, so I sprint to the doors, managing to slip through before they close.

A few passengers look up at my abrupt arrival, but then go back to peering at their respective devices. I take a seat next to two small boys playing video games on their handheld consoles. They don’t seem to be accompanied by an adult, but I’m realizing now that’s probably just how it is in Seoul, safe enough that kids can travel about freely.

Honestly, I’m a bit envious. My mom wouldn’t let me take public transit on my own up until six months ago. And compared to LA’s system, this subway car seems like it’s from the future with a pleasant automated voice overhead explaining what station we’re leaving, and air so well-circulated I feel like I’m in a department store. There’s even a split-screen monitor attached to the ceiling. On one side is a depiction of the subway car as it leaves the station, moving onto the next stop on the line. The other screen shows the end of a music video. Four boys walk away from the camera, fire and destruction in their wake. On the bottom right side Joah Entertainment appears on the screen, as well as the artists’ name, XOXO, and the song, “Don’t Look Back.”

The music video shifts to a commercial for an instant coffee brand.

I get off the subway at the right stop and follow my mapping app to the address the school had provided for the uniform shop.

I almost miss the building because of the crowd gathered outside it.

Girls, mostly middle schoolers in thick coats, huddle next to a black van parked near the entrance.

I shuffle my way through the crowd. At the front, a harried looking man in his thirties blocks the door.

“You can’t enter,” he says to me.

“I’m here to pick up my uniform.” I pull up the email from my contact at Seoul Arts Academy and show him the screen.

The email is in English, but that doesn’t seem to be an issuebecause he sighs, pushing the door open behind him. “Don’t take any pictures.”

I nod, though it’s a weird policy to have. What if I want to show my mom my uniform? As I walk through, a few of the girlsscream, and I stumble over the threshold.What the hell?

The door shuts, cutting off all noise.

With all the commotion on the street, I expect it to be chaos inside, but it’s quiet. Other than myself, there aren’t any customers. Uniforms hang on racks throughout the store. One of the two assistants behind the checkout desk approaches me. Like with the man outside, I show her the email. She quickly gets to work, taking down items in a few sizes for me to try—button-down shirts, skirts, pants, a sweater, and a blazer. She also adds PE clothing to the pile and a few accessories—a tie and a headband.

“Do you need assistance?” she asks after showing me the way to the changing rooms.

“No, I should be okay.”

She hands me the clothing. “If you need help, ring the call button inside the changing room.”

“Thank you,” I say and she bows before walking back to the desk. I almost ask her why there’s a crowd of girls outside the store. Is there a sale on the uniforms? That would actually be great.

I step through a drawn curtain that separates the main area of the store from the changing rooms. On the other side, there’s a small room with a large three-sided mirror.

A guy stands against the wall, looking down at his phone. I’m momentarily surprised, only because I hadn’t thought there was anyone else in the store.

He’s around my age, lean but strong-looking, and wearing all black. I must have been staring because he glances up. I quickly look away and enter one of the three changing rooms.

I’ve never worn a uniform, but I quickly figure out the logistics of it, tucking the white shirt into the waistband of the skirt—I don’t know how to tie a tie, so I leave that—and slipping the sweater over my head. I put the blazer over the whole thing, sticking my cell phone in the pocket. I turn to the mirror inside the dressing room, but it’s pretty small, which explains why there’s a full-body trifold in the main room.

I hesitate, remembering the guy on his phone. Am I really going to check myself out with him standing right there?

Oh, whatever. This is what I’m here for. I press back the curtain and walk out, careful not to look at the guy. Instead I approach the mirror and step up onto the little platform, offering me several angles to view how the uniform fits.

I must admit, I look good. The skirt hits an inch above my knees, which I’m not sure is standard, but makes my legs look great. I have wide shoulders, which I’m a bit self-conscious about, but they fill out the blazer nicely. Slipping my hands into my pockets, I do several poses to see how it looks from different angles.

A loud jingle starts to play. I reach into the pocket of my blazer and pull out my phone.

“Did you make it to the store all right?” Mom asks when I pick up. After hearing Korean all day, it’s a relief to switch to English.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m just trying on my uniform now.”

“Will you be home in time for dinner? Your halmeoni wants to treat you before you move into your dorm tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I should be home in an hour.”

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